


Paying the Price

by fhsa_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Established Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-08
Updated: 2005-04-08
Packaged: 2019-02-05 18:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12799740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: Krycek takes his revenge for what Mulder and Skinner did to him.





	Paying the Price

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

**Notes:** This is the third in the "Broken" series inspired by a Peja-challenge. There will probably be more. No beta has yet touched this piece, so read at your own risk :) 

 

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"So..tell me, Skinner. Was it your idea to carve the word 'prime' on my ass, or was it Mulder's?" 

 

I watch his eyes as I ask him this question, and the quickly subdued panic in them tells me what I need to know. Mulder's idea, then. I already figured as much, but it's nice to have the confirmation. My lover, or maybe I should call him my ex-lover, has a ruthlessly practical streak that I can't help but admire, even when I'm on the receiving end of it. Not that I'm about to admit that to Skinner. 

 

His nostrils flare, and the muscles of his arms and legs flex in rage. He's bound hand and foot to the four posters of my bed. Clich, I know, but I don't mind treading the well-trampled path, if it leads where I want to go. "Go to hell, Krycek," he tells me. The sight of his straining muscles goes straight to my groin, and I find myself suddenly craving the taste of salt-sweat. 

 

Skinner's such a boy scout. By neither confirming nor denying my accusation, he hopes I'll draw my own conclusions and judge him guilty. He wants to claim responsibility, but he hates to lie, even to me. He's trying to protect Mulder. I wonder if the two of them are lovers. 

 

I haven't been in Mulder's ass since he and Skinner drugged me and beat the shit out of me and used a knife blade on my butt and dumped my unconscious body on Spender's doorstep. The old bastard was so tickled by the sight that he forgave me for fucking up my hits. Skinner and Mulder are still alive because I chose not to kill them, and this is how they repaid me. 

 

It was a fucking work of genius, I've got to admit that. It would never even occur to Spender that I could have had any voluntary part in my own torture and rape. Yeah, they did that to me, too. Nice touch. They both have a lot to answer for. 

 

"Looks like your hands healed up nicely," I remark. "I wonder if they'll break in the same places." 

 

He looks sick with apprehension. Can't blame him. He probably only got the splints off a few weeks ago, and I doubt they'll ever be quite as nimble as they were. The only reason he can use them at all is because I got him to Scully right away, barely a day after Spender had broken them so badly. If I break them again and keep him here a while he'll never use a keyboard easily, never dial his cell phone without help, never sign his name again. 

 

I reach out and cradle his hand in mine, daring him to try to pull away, daring him to fight me. 

 

He doesn't. Skinner knows how to pick his battles, and he just lies there, waiting for the hurting to start. The bones are still fragile; I've had enough breaks to know that. I could damage him with just a firm handshake and the right leverage right now. 

 

I caress the palm of his hand with my fingertip, across the dark and light marbling of restricted circulation. He's not tied tightly enough to do serious damage. I know my restraints. 

 

And now Skinner knows my restraints as well. Heh. Sometimes I crack myself up. 

I use my own fingers to splay his hand out, holding it on the edge of discomfort. "Tell me, Skinner," I ask him. "Was I a prime piece?" 

 

He braces himself for what I'm going to do. "Yeah," he says. "Prime. You have the nicest piece of ass I've had in a long time." 

 

I press down a little harder. "You take turns with Mulder?" 

 

"No," he says. "Just me." 

 

I release his hand and reach down for my boot knife. Maybe six inches of Gerber steel will teach Skinner the error of his ways. I seat myself on the bed and shave a couple of the buttons off his shirt, just to show him how sharp it is. "You wouldn't be lying to me, would you Skinner? None of the handprints on my thighs were big enough to be yours." I'd have guessed it was Mulder, even without the measurements. He likes to grab me there when he's plowing my ass, only not usually so hard. The handprints were a nice showcase display, though. They sure impressed Spender. He couldn't stop talking about them, the pervert. 

"It was my idea, Krycek." Skinner meets my eyes defiantly. "Go ahead and do your worst. You just got what you deserved; you're nothing but a cock-sucking, two-bit errand-boy." 

 

That pisses me off. If I'm still acting as Spender's pool-boy it's because Mulder and Skinner tossed me back in the water when I was ready to get out. Bastards. And now he's got the gall to throw it in my face. 

 

I climb up onto the bed, straddle his hips, and casually slice off his shirt. I'm not particularly careful, and he's got several shallow slices down his arms by the time I'm done. 

 

"Are we having fun yet?" I ask him. I shift my ass around, moving it against his crotch. "I guess not. Doesn't feel like there's any action going on down there." I wiggle playfully, and press the knife-tip into the heel of my hand. A tiny dribble of blood springs out, snaking its way down to my wrist, and I lick it off. 

 

Skinner fixes his eyes on the ceiling. There's a tremor to his muscles that wasn't there a moment ago. Then I remember that Rikki had a Gerber like mine. I remember him cleaning blood off it when I showed up. 

 

Suddenly, it doesn't seem like such fun any more. 

 

Skinner's lying his ass off, to protect Mulder. I wonder why he does it. Mulder doesn't deserve this. The little bastard ought to be here, taking his own lumps. Instead, Skinner is here in his place, tight lipped and rigid between my gripping thighs. He expects to be hurt, badly, and still he makes no move to defend himself when he knows that Mulder would pay the cost. 

 

I was angry enough to use the knife on him, when I took him a few hours ago. After months of physical pain and psychological humiliation, of snide jokes, crude knick-names, and insulting offers from the fucking assholes I have to work with, I was ready to lash out at whichever of my assaulters crossed my path first. I had been hoping it was Mulder. I wanted to listen to his groans as I took him dry, the way he had taken me as I lay unconscious. Even Scully, the bitch. I wonder if she smiled when she took me down. I wonder if she insisted on watching while they cut me up. I'll bet she got a kick out of it. 

 

But when I saw Skinner get out of the elevator it occurred to me that I could use my knife on him and hurt all three of them. 

 

Oh, I don't know what the fuck I was thinking, to be honest. I was just pissing mad. 

 

I'm still mad, but...I can't hurt him. Not when I don't have to. Not when it's my choice to make. I scoot back and get up on my knees between his bound legs. My hands tremble slightly as I undo the button of his slacks and unzip him, then maneuver the knife delicately between his briefs and crotch. One quick slice and the waistband is severed, his limp cock exposed. 

 

I touch it gently, examining it. The surgeons have done a good job. There's still some scarring, but you wouldn't notice unless you knew to look for it. 

I put away the knife, but he doesn't seem to notice. His face is rigid and pale, his eyes fixed on the light bulb over the bed. 

 

"Seems a shame to spoil all the work they put into this," I murmur. 

 

"Fuck you, Krycek," he says thickly. His control is slipping, his honest brown eyes dilating with a terror that goes beyond any man's ability to hide. Even his. "You think that scares me? It's all cosmetic. Nothing works. You can't take anything from me that hasn't already been taken." 

 

Brave words. His body remembers the pain, though, and that's what he's afraid of. Any sane man would be. 

 

The last of my rage gutters and dies. There's nothing he's done to me that even comes close to what they did to him. And what I did. What I'm doing. 

 

He was right. I was wrong. If he's willing to consider us even, then it's only out of the generosity of his spirit, and I was a fool not to have accepted it. //Paid in full, Skinner.// 

 

I let him slip gently from my hand, then lean forward to brush my lips across the taut skin of his belly. "It'll come, Skinner," I whisper, not bothering to hide the tenderness in my voice. "You just expect too damned much of yourself. You always have." 

 

His eyes widen as he stares at me with undisguised disbelief and a different kind of pain. "You fucker, Krycek. You sick bastard. Take your pound of flesh but don't play this perverted game with me." 

 

"No game, Skinner. You owe me, remember? Anything I want. To keep Mulder safe." 

 

He blinks at me, in bewilderment and confusion. "You led me to believe...it was unnecessary." 

 

"That was then. This is now. Everything changed when you let Mulder cut me up and rape me, Skinner." 

 

He struggles with the guilt of it, as I knew he would. It doesn't matter if I deserved it. It doesn't matter if it was Mulder's idea or Mulder's knife or Mulder's cock. 

 

Skinner takes the guilt because he knows Mulder won't. He bears his agents' burdens for them, just because he's that kind of an AD. He does what he believes is right, even if he's all alone in his beliefs. 

 

I could tell him that I've forgiven him, that he doesn't owe me anything, but I don't want to. I want him to feel he owes me. It's the only way I'll even have him. It wouldn't make any difference anyway; he's not one to give up his burdens to another. 

 

"You owe me, both of you. Mostly Mulder. Don't think that I don't know who I have to thank for this." I climb down and turn my back to him, unzipping and yanking my jeans down, exposing my flesh. I don't need a mirror to see how ugly the scars are. I can feel them, uneven and puckered beneath the palm of my hand. "I was no real prize to begin with, but now...the only fucks I can look forward to are pity fucks and rape. It may come as a surprise to you, but I don't do either of those particularly well." I yank my jeans back up, tuck myself in and zip. When I turn around I catch the stricken look in Skinner's eyes. He looks so shocked, and it makes me wonder if this is the first time he's seen my ass. At least in its present state. 

 

I'm such a fucking manipulative bastard. Mulder's right about me. But I know what I want, and what I want right now is Skinner. 

 

And, even though he doesn't realize it yet, Skinner needs this, too. He needs to know that he's still got a body that can make a lover ache with wanting him. I know what scars like that can do to a man. I saw the bitterness in his eyes, heard it in his voice back in the hotel room. //Still want that fuck, Krycek?// He can't get it up yet because when he looks at himself all he can see is the scarring. The ugliness. I know what that feels like. 

 

"It's Mulder I really want to hurt." I let him see the truth of this in my eyes. "I want to carve my name across his butt cheeks. I want him to wake up feeling like he's had a broom handle rammed up his ass. I want to do the same to Scully, the little bitch. I know she enjoyed this." I lean over him, forcing him to look straight up into my eyes. "But I'm willing to stand by the deal we made earlier. I'm a man of my word, Skinner. Are you?" 

 

"You know I am," he rasps. "Is that the deal? You do what you want to me, and all debts are paid. Me...Mulder...Scully. No more revenge for anything we did to you?" 

 

"Paid in full," I agree. 

 

"You get back in touch with Mulder. Whatever arrangement the two of you had going before. You're his pipeline to the Consortium. And if the smoker wants Mulder or Scully killed, you warn them. Soon enough that they can take precautions." 

 

"Deal." He hasn't included himself in this part of the deal, I notice. I don't think he expects to survive what I'm going to do. "I want full access to you. That means the ropes come off at some point and you don't give me any shit. You don't leave my apartment, or try to get away or contact anyone. Not until I get what I want." 

 

"You expect me to just lie there while you cut me up?" he asks incredulously. 

 

"No." I give him a humorless smile. "Don't worry. I'm not that much of a monster. I'll make sure you're tied before I start cutting." 

 

The despair in his eyes almost breaks my resolve, but I want him going into this expecting the worst. That way he'll be less likely to cut and run when he finds out what I really want from him. Besides, if I'm not going to get to take my pound of flesh from Mulder I'm at least owed a little fingernail paring from Skinner. 

 

"You don't tell them. Mulder and Scully. You don't even let them find out...about our deal." 

 

"Fine by me," I tell him. "If I'm not allowed to kill them I sure as hell don't want them knowing what happened between us." Though, if everything goes according to plan, it'll be obvious, even to Mulder, what's going on. //I want you to know, you little bastard. I want you to know what you threw away.// I push the thought away. "Are we done? Is that the deal?" 

 

"We're done. Carve away, Krycek, you soulless bastard." His lip curls back from clenched teeth. "Make the most of it. Do your worst." 

 

"Sure, Skinner." I keep my face expressionless as I sever the ropes binding his wrists and ankles. 

 

He watches me, trying to anticipate my next move, swiveling his stiff wrists and flexing his arms. 

 

I bend over him and grasp the slacks hanging loose at his hips. "Lift up, Walt." 

 

His eyes flash at the casual familiarity, but lifts his ass up off the bed enough for me to work the slacks down his legs. A moment later the mutilated jockeys join the slacks on my floor. 

 

"You want me face down?" He asks, dully. 

 

"No. I want you like this." I climb back up between his legs. He's still flaccid, but that's okay. I never expected this to be easy. 

 

"Fine. However you want it, Krycek." He draws his knees up, exposing himself to me. Expecting me to ram myself into him dry. Wanting to get it over with. 

I put my hands on his knees, and guide them gently back down. "Not yet, Skinner." I arc my body over his and stare down into his searching eyes. "You may as well relax, or we're going to be here for a very long time. Not that I have any objections to that, mind you." 

 

"I don't understand." His voice is irritated, and bewildered. 

 

"You never asked what I wanted, Skinner." 

 

"You want revenge. You want to hurt me, the same way you were hurt." 

 

"No," I correct him. "I want to hurt Mulder. I want to hurt him so bad..." 

 

//Fucking bastard. How could he have done that to me? How could he have cut me up like that, thrown me away?// "...so bad I can just taste it. I'm willing to give it up, though, Skinner, for something I want even more." I lean down to kiss the sloping muscles of his chest, the scarred nipples. I let the desire I'm feeling thicken my voice. "I want you, Skinner. I always have." 

 

"I know what you want, Krycek. Take it. But don't pretend...don't expect me to pretend that I think I'm anything more than a hole to fuck and a throat for screaming." 

 

"You don't have to pretend anything. That's my job." I work my way down over the lean muscles of his abdomen, punctuating my words with tongue and lips. "I know you wouldn't give me this in a million years if you had a choice, Skinner, but it isn't going to be rape. We're not done until I see your face twist up and I hear you scream my name as you come shooting into my ass." 

 

"You'll be waiting a long time, then," he growls, trying to hide the fact that I've thrown him completely off-balance. 

 

"However long it takes," I tell him. "I've waited for this for a long time. I've dreamed about how you would look, naked on my bed. You look good," I tell him hoarsely. "Damned good." 

 

"You into scars, then, Krycek?" he taunts me, but I can read the bitterness of loss behind his words. 

 

"When they're on you, Skinner...hell, yes." Deliberately, I draw back and examine burn marks that haven't yet faded from his cock, the slightly unequal size of his balls. "My compliments to the surgeons," I say admiringly. "Let's see how they taste." 

 

I hear Skinner's soft intake of breath as I take his right ball into my mouth. My tongue roams across the smooth, delicate surface. I wonder where they took the skin from. 

 

His hands clutch at my shoulders as I transfer my attention to the other ball. This one is more ordinary, hairy and tasting of pungent salt. "They're both nice," I announce when I come up for air, "but I like this one better. I flick the reconstructed ball with my tongue. "No hairs to get between my teeth. And so smooth. It feels nice on my tongue." I delve playfully into the crevice between his balls and feel a surge of triumph when I notice that his cock is finally starting to take notice of what I'm doing. 

 

I let my tongue work its way back up, and take the expanding flesh into my mouth. It isn't long before he's standing stiffly at attention, and I taste the salty slickness of pre-cum. 

 

There's lube in the nightstand; at my direction Skinner squeezes some onto his fingers and sits up, pushing me back against the bed. 

 

I gasp and squirm as he penetrates me with one finger, then two. "Oh, god...fuck me, already, Skinner." 

 

The look on his face as he pushes into me is one of determination, not pleasure, and that doesn't alter when he starts stroking into me like a machine, grimly concentrating on maintaining his erection. 

 

It's not the most erotic experience I've ever had, but I can tell that he's working hard to make it good for me, angling his thrusts to stroke my prostate. The thought sends me over the edge and I come shooting all over both of us. "Damn," I curse softly. "Keep going, Skinner," I urge, but he pulls out of me and rolls away to lie on the edge of the bed, putting his back to me. 

 

"I can't," he says hollowly. "I told you. I've tried. It's just for show." 

 

"Don't be an idiot, Skinner," I say, draping myself along the line of his rigid back. "I know what was inside me a moment ago, and it wasn't just for show. Sorry," I whisper. "My fault. I just can't control myself around you. You drive me crazy. Can we try again later? I should be able to last longer the second time. I know I'm fucking lousy as a lover...Mulder's told me so often enough...but I ought to at least be able to make you come. Give me another chance?" I plead coaxingly, teasing the back of his neck with my lips. 

 

I feel his body begin to tremble, and after a while tiny, silent convulsions shake him as I wrap my arm around his waist and across his chest. I let him wear himself out against my silence, until the jerky movements subside and his breath catches in that quiet double gasp that signals the return of his control. This time, when my cum-slicked hand finds him, it doesn't take long to bring him to full hardness and even less time before his body is arching into mine, a sharp cry escaping his lips and he collapses, limp and sweaty. 

 

"Goddamn it, Krycek," he mutters, when he can speak again. "Had to make a liar out of me, didn't you?" 

 

"Good thing you didn't bet your ass on it," I tell him smugly. "Or it would belong to me right now." 

 

There's a long pause. "Is that what you're really after?" he asks quietly. 

"No." I nip at the skin between his shoulder blades. "Nice as it is, your ass isn't the part of you I want the most." 

 

"My cock, then," he guesses, dryly. 

 

"Nope. Not that either." My heart is suddenly racing, so wildly and out of control that I know he has to be aware of it, closely as our bodies are pressed together. I'm fucking terrified because I know what I'm going to say and I know I shouldn't but I'm going to anyway. 

 

His hand tightens over mine just as I'm about to draw it away and he holds it captive against him as he asks "What, then?" 

 

//This is so fucking stupid of you, Alex// something in me is screaming, even as my lips shape the words. "Your heart." 

 

The room goes perfectly still, and the only sound I hear is the frantic drumbeat in my own ears. //This is where he laughs in your face, you pathetic piece of shit. This is where he takes you by the balls and squeezes.// 

 

I feel my fingers being closed into a fist and pulled up, feel the warmth of Skinner's cheek as he presses my hand against his face. "I don't pretend to understand this," he says, finally. "Give me a little time to adjust?" 

 

My heartbeat slows its frantic pace, and I feel myself relaxing against him. "Take all the time you want." We lie that way for a long time, awkwardly attempting to fit together. It seems almost inevitable that we should have found our way to each other, like two mismatched and many-times-darned socks dragged out of the back of the drawer and rolled together. 

 

"Besides," I remind him. "You haven't come in my ass yet. That means that unless your stamina is a hell of a lot better than mine, you're stuck here until morning." 

 

"Until morning," he agrees, but I dare to think I hear something more than just that promise in the way he still clings to my hand even after his breathing deepens and I know sleep has claimed him. 

 

Eventually, I drift off beside him.


End file.
